Wildride!
by The Real Muse
Summary: Few people know of Samhaine's brother, Lourdaine - the Lord of the Harvest. Few would dare his wrath. The Ghostbusters have no choice. Continued on my home website
1. Default Chapter

Wild Ride  
  
By: CindyR co-written with GingerF  
  
In the innermost heart of the city, far from the evening crowds, a meeting was taking place in an abandoned warehouse; a meeting which was to decide the fate of the Ghostbusters. "They must be stopped at all costs," ordered a faintly glowing specter from a dusty rafter. The half-dozen assorted figures gathered below moaned assent.  
  
The first specter drifted off its rafter, floating gently above the 'heads' of the ghostly throng, finally bumping to a halt in one corner. "We can no longer let them continue their painful assaults on our kind," it boomed, to the accompaniment of laments and wails.  
  
"But how do we stop them, Gastur? You tell us," one of the lesser spirits demanded. "The harder we hit, the more powerful they become. Their technology-""  
  
"Do not speak to me of technology." Gastur's glow brightened perceptibly with agitation. "The wizardry of men is of no interest to us. We must destroy the men, for it is with them that the true power lies, not in their toys. We prepare now for the final assault."  
  
"You talk of final assaults," another interrupted boldly. "So did Samhaine, Watt, and other powerful specters and demons. Where are they now? Languishing in the Ghostbusters' containment unit!"  
  
Lightning crackled through the leader's blue aura, and its voice was a determined roar. "We shall deliver our brothers and sisters from their prison bonds and make the Ghostbusters suffer for every one they have trapped."  
  
The gathered spirits recoiled from the sheer power inherent in their leader's rage. One, braver than the rest, levitated a few feet upwards. "You sound very sure of yourself, Gastur," it said. "Who is going to lead us to this victory? You?"  
  
"NO!" Gastur's aura swirled madly until the single questioner was forced to join its cowed brethren crouched on the floor. "The privilege will go to one who deserves the opportunity -- a spirit willing to accept the challenge, one who has a personal score to settle and has presented a unique way of meting out justice." It paused dramatically. "I'm sure you are all acquainted with Lordaine. "  
  
A buzz of commotion broke out amongst the gathered spirits. "Lordaine!" "The Harvester!" "The Dealer of Justice!"  
  
"The one and the same." Gastur preened, pleased at its own cleverness. "He heard of the capture of his brother, Samhaine, and was distressed. When Samhaine escaped, Lordaine made ready to join his brother in the battle, but Samhaine was recaptured by those accursed Ghostbusters. He swore vengeance and has now set his plan into motion. It begins tomorrow at midnight. Before the cock crows, the Ghostbusters will be but a memory and we who will be the reality."  
  
***  
  
Peter Venkman slipped through the doorway of Ghostbusters Central, a large box balanced precariously in his arms. Bright sunlight illuminated the interior of the room forcing a smile to Peter's face at the sight of Ecto-1 sporting two sets of overall-clad legs protruding from opposite ends of its chassis. With a low chuckle, he kicked the door, shutting it with a bang.  
  
"That you, Pete?" Winston called, pulling his head out from under the hood of the car. "Did you pick up those parts I ordered from the auto center?"  
  
Peter hefted the large crate. "Next time, Winston, do my spine a favor and order lighter parts, huh? A guy could hurt himself lugging this stuff around. I'm a doctor, not a stockboy." He nimbly ducked a nebulous green mass which detached itself from the ceiling to dive bomb his head. "Watch it, spud," he growled. Slimer returned to his vantage point on the ceiling making annoyed squeals to himself.  
  
Winston plucked the box from Venkman's hands and set it on a low workbench. "Don't make me laugh," he said, rummaging around inside. "Just 'cause you got some piece of dead sheep with the word 'doctor' on it, don't make it a fact." He removed several articles from their individual packages and slid them into the general vicinity of the second pair of legs. "Here you go, Ray, just like you ordered."  
  
"Great, you got the stuff," came the bright voice of Ray Stantz from underneath the car. "Good work, Peter." The reply to that innocuous remark was a silence so deafening that Stantz pulled himself out from under the car. "Peter?" he asked curiously.  
  
Venkman glowered. "Two years of engineering, seven years of psychology, three of parapsychology ... two doctorates, and how does my resume read? 'Peter Venkman -- stockboy.' Great."  
  
"But, Peter." The good-natured occultist laid a placating hand on his friend's arm. "Your own research--"  
  
"Is going absolutely nowhere," Venkman finished sourly. He threw himself down onto the workbench the very picture of dejection. "I'm sure there's a connection between Alpha wave fluctuation and psychokinetic ability, but after three months I'm no closer to discovering the correlation factors than I was when I started. I'm starting to think...."  
  
He broke off at the appearance of a tall, lanky figure from the staircase. "You know, Ray, this is very interesting," it said, stepping around the incensed Venkman as though he weren't there.  
  
"Everything is interesting to you, Egon," was Venkman's acid comment. An offended snort from the direction of the filing cabinets made him look up into Janine's disapproving glare. Her expression softened considerably as Egon came into view.  
  
The physicist remained oblivious to her adoring scrutiny. "Oh, hello, Peter. Back so soon?" Spengler pushed his red glasses back up on his nose, ignoring the temperamental flash which lit his colleague's face.  
  
Winston, however, did notice. "What's interesting, m'man?" he asked, giving Peter a nudge.  
  
"This." Spengler brandished one of his yellowed newspapers under Winston's nose. The black man retreated a step. "I was investigating that case of ghoulism we handled last week and I found this article."  
  
Ray accepted the folded newspaper. "'Alien Sues Zsa Zsa Gabor for Child Support,"' he read. "Gee, Egon, that's real neat, but...."  
  
"Not that one." Egon snatched up the paper, reversed it and returned it to Ray's hands. '"That one." "'Grave Robbers Die in Crash.' Wow!"  
  
"'Wow,' indeed," Spengler sniffed. "Fascinating, actually. It seems that Ecto once belonged to a funeral home located in the Bronx."  
  
"Could be worse," Peter commented. "Could have been Bayonne."  
  
"I always knew she was a home girl." Winston proudly patted the gleaming hood.  
  
"It's all documented here in these newspaper articles. Quite a scandal, really." Egon shuffled through his remaining newspapers, managing to drop several in the process. Winston retrieved them without a word and handed them back.  
  
"What was a scandal?" Ray asked eagerly, his eyes bright with the possibility of a new mystery.  
  
Egon located the sheet he was looking for and handed it to his youngest colleague. "The drivers of the hearse were grave robbers. Before they would take the coffin out of the car, they would help themselves to the jewelry of the deceased, even wedding rings."  
  
"Geez, that's pretty low," Peter said, peering over Ray's shoulder.  
  
"Low, indeed." Egon nodded agreement. "They got away with it for years until one night, on the way back from the hospital, there was an accident. When the police arrived, the two drivers were dead, still bearing some of the booty from their previous capers. Ecto, of course, was repaired and restored to regular service."  
  
"And?" Winston prodded, waiting for more.  
  
"That's it. End of story." Egon resecured his newspapers from Ray's greasy fist and began to wander towards the staircase, having already lost interest in the conversation.  
  
"Remind me not to have ol' Spengs read us any bedtime stories," Peter complained.  
  
"You can read to me anytime, Egon," Janine sighed.  
  
Spengler looked up, startled. "Urn, that's very kind of you, Janine, but ... uh ... right now I have some more work to do." With that, he raced upstairs to the relative safety of his lab.  
  
Ray watched his friend's escape with an amused smile on his face. "Last time I saw Egon that flustered was when that geek from MIT published that article on Quantum Mechanics as applied to induced temporal transmigration. Kid got a multi-million dollar military grant on that one."  
  
"Why would that upset Egon?" Winston wondered.  
  
"Because Egon's paper on the same subject came out less than a month later," Ray explained. "Government nearly had him arrested on espionage charges. Egon was positively livid." He paused. "We'll, as "livid as Egon ever gets, anyway. "  
  
Peter chuckled. "Yeah, that sure was fun watching the fire department break down the door to the broom closet when he locked himself in. Didn't come out for two days." He sighed. "Those were the days."  
  
*** 


	2. Chapter 2

The night sky blanketed the city with a spectacular canopy that vied with the New York skyline for prominence. Below the quiet lights, the town's night life was stirring into motion. Not everyone, however, was in for a gala evening.  
  
"Whoa, Ray, we're not going to a fire, just a little poltergeist activity. No biggie," Peter said, snatching for his seatbelt. He whooped as Ray took a particularly sharp turn on two wheels, flinging him into Egon's lap. "Ooof! Really, Egon, we've gotta stop meeting like this."  
  
"Peter," Egon chided sternly.  
  
"Just trying to lighten the mood." Peter sat back up, taking a firm hold on the armrest while Egon rechecked his PKE meter for the dozenth time that night. In the front seat, Winston and Ray chatted about the new tune up they had just given Ecto, unaware of a sinister blue mist hovering about their feet.  
  
"... and when I advanced the timing again, she began to purr like a kitten," Ray finished, patting the dash.  
  
"An-throp-o-mor-phism," Peter pronounced, leaning forward in his seat. "The word is anthropomorphism."  
  
Winston twisted to shoot the psychologist a dirty look. "Man, if you're analyzing my love life again, I do not want to hear it. The last time you did that, Tamika ended up thinking I had a social disease." Peter laughed.  
  
The ever curious -- and far more innocent minded -- Ray asked, "What's an- anthro--"  
  
"Anthropomorphism," Peter repeated. "It means that you're treating this old bucket of bolts like it was your best friend. It's just a car for cryin' out loud." A sudden spurt of acceleration sent him flying back into his seat. "Hey!"  
  
At that moment, Egon's ever-present PKE meter emitted a loud squawk nearly causing him to drop the device. He adjusted a knob and studied the glowing face intently. "Ray, pull over. Quickly," he ordered. "Something's in the car with us!" There was no response.  
  
"Yo, Ray? Winston? Oh, gu-eys, Egon thinks we're in big trouble, so it's a reeeal good idea to pull over right now." There was no more response to Peter's sing-song plea than there was to Egon's flat command. Peter sat forward, his face softening into a worried frown, and touched Ray on the shoulder. "Ray?"  
  
"Yesss, Peter?"  
  
Venkman jumped back in his seat at the sight of Ray's face. The normally amiable features were twisted, convoluted into an expression of utter malice. His soft brown eyes were neither, rather they glowed with an unearthly blue fire. A glance in Winston's direction revealed him to be in the same condition.  
  
"Make the boys comfortable, Ronnie," Ray said in a strange, haunting voice. "We've got a long ride ahead of us."  
  
"No problem," Winston answered in a similar tone. He turned to face the two terrified Ghostbusters with an evil grin. "What do we do now, Egon?" Peter quavered. The physicist considered. "I say we jump for it." "I say you're right!" Peter yelled, lunging for the handle.  
  
"And I say you stay right where you are," Winston said, pointing towards the rear seatbelts. The belts gained immediate life, and began to twine themselves serpent-like, around the two Ghostbusters.  
  
"Okay, Winston, nice trick," Peter acknowledged, tugging at his bonds. "Now you wanna let us go before I get real mad?" He tried on his most dangerous glare for effect, of which there was exactly none.  
  
"Peter, threatening a possessed person does little to help the situation," Egon pointed out calmly.  
  
The psychologist shrugged. "I figured it couldn't hurt." With that, Winston gestured again and the hanging hand straps stretched out, wrapping themselves around the captive men's mouths, making perfect gags.  
  
Ecto-I sped on its way out of Manhattan, past smaller cities and into the rural towns. Along the way, Peter and Egon had stopped fighting against their bonds and fallen asleep, not from exhaustion, but from sheer boredom. Listening to the rambling of their possessed partners about 'the good old days' was enough to put anyone to sleep. Finally, Ecto stopped with a jolt that woke the two prisoners.  
  
"Everybody out, end of the line -- and we do mean end of the line," Ray joked, as he and Winston pulled proton packs from the wagon and strapped them on. Drawing the particle throwers, they gestured in unison and the car doors whipped open, spilling Peter and Egon out onto the ground.  
  
"This isn't my idea of a simple poltergeist job," Venkman complained as he got to his feet. Ray shoved the thrower in his back and herded them inside a decrepit Victorian house at the head of the driveway.  
  
"You don't need a PKE meter to tell you this place is hot," Egon remarked, as the front door swung open on its own.  
  
"For once, I agree with you, Egon," Peter answered, as they stepped into the dusty entry hall. The place was abuzz with spirit activity; every kind of spook and spud moved about freely in an atmosphere so charged, one could see clearly despite the gloom. Many gathered in small clusters, pointing and whispering as the Ghostbusters climbed the creaking staircase and crossed the balcony that overlooked the doorway far below. The four entered a large room filled with windows, now broken and cracked from time and neglect. At the far end, a tall, cloaked figure stood with his back to the Ghostbusters. "We have arrived as you commanded," Winston's hollow voice announced.  
  
The cloak fluttered lightly in a non-existent breeze. "Well done. Leave those miserable mortal frames and lock those three below stairs. I would speak with Dr. Spengler alone." The creature's voice was chill -- the door to an open grave.  
  
Immediately obedient, Winston and Ray grabbed Peter's arms, dragging him from the room. "Great going, Egon," he shouted. "You get an audience with the Prince of Wails here, and I get locked up with the Boo Brothers! Will you two let go of me or I'll...." With that, the door shut behind them, leaving Egon alone with their host. The voice again filled the room.  
  
"At last, we meet," it hissed. "You, above all mortals, I despise -- you and your nauseating friends. It was you who discovered my brother's weakness to the light, and again who found the key to destroy his fortress."  
  
"Oh, no, it can't possibly be...." Egon moaned weakly, now realizing who stood before him. The figure turned to face him and he couldn't restrain a shudder. "Lordaine!"  
  
Lordaine the Harvester, brother of Samhaine the spirit of Halloween who now resided permanently in the containment unit. Here stood Samhaine's brother, the Dark Lord, Leader of Legions, and Samhaine's only hope of escape.  
  
Lordaine was a frightening sight, from his thigh-high boots to his large brimmed pilgrim-style hat he was the very embodiment of all that was unholy. The face was that of a demented scarecrow with vengeance on its mind. Egon had reason to feel sick.  
  
"You have nothing to say?" The spectral entity chuckled, moving closer. "That I cannot believe of you. The brilliant Egon Spengler must have some comment for me?"  
  
Spengler drew himself stiffly erect. "If you think you can scare me into releasing Samhaine," he stated with hardly a tremor in his voice, "think again. I won't do it, no matter what you do."  
  
"I don't want you to," Lordaine said, raising both fists heavenward. "I want to tear that prison apart with my own hands!" He glared into Egon's tight face. "You are here to die, Spengler -- all of you. You Ghostbusters, miserable creatures of flesh - you dare think you can stop the flow of events; that you can stop fate? We are ancient gods, human, and we will take back this world we once ruled. No more will we retreat into the shadows of the past. The world will be ours..." One leather- gloved hand touched Egon's face gently. " ...and your tormented souls shall be mine."  
  
With that, Lordaine began to grow, towering over Egon as every inch the ancient god he claimed to be. The tattered cloak whipped about as the ethereal breeze became a cyclone, spinning ever faster. As badly as he wanted to run, Egon found himself held fast by that irresistible tempest, and still Lordaine continued to grow until there was naught but the engulfing folds of his dark cloak. He felt the gloved hands of the phantom pressing tightly against the sides of his head, his long blond hair stinging his eyes as the wind blew it about. Strange words from a language long forgotten filled the room, stabbing deep inside his being. Egon knew a spell was being cast -- felt it to the very core of his soul -- and also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it.  
  
Finally, a burst of fetid wind and a cloud of smoke sent Spengler tumbling to the floor, his mind a mess of scattered thoughts. "You don't "look well, Dr. Spengler, not well at all," a familiar voice gloated from above.  
  
"Huh?" Egon groaned as he gazed upwards to find a vision of... himself. "What kind of madness...?"  
  
"Not madness -- reality." The doppelganger ran one long-fingered hand through its disordered locks, combing them into their normally coiffured style. "In this form I can move among my prey freely, exacting my revenge slowly and at my will." He laughed, honest amusement lighting the angular features. "I can just imagine the look on Venkman's face when he's blown to bits by one of his 'best" friends! And Stantz...." Lordaine licked his lips. "Or should I say Ray? I shall introduce him to the myriad delights by which my people have worshipped me for millennia."  
  
A sickening dread forced Egon's head up. "But that was...."  
  
"Yes." The Egon-thing laughed again in delight. "The time of the harvest was also a time of renewal. The pleasures of the body were but one sacrifice offered to the Lord of the Harvest."  
  
Egon's stomach contracted in horror for his two comrades. Peter -- whose hard-won trust had been betrayed so often in his past -- was to be betrayed yet again by one he loved. A harsher fate Egon couldn't imagine for his friend for, even should Venkman survive the attack -- an unlikely possibility in any event -- he would never again offer his trust to another human soul. A life of loneliness and suspicion forever.  
  
And Ray.... Egon groaned aloud at the thought. Ray's boyish innocence was almost a catchword to the other three. Even the admittedly unfrivolous Spengler had off-times had to shake his head at the thought of a man passing his thirtieth birthday without losing any of his childish delight in life, having remained so untouched as yet by the cruelties of society. Spengler and the others had always protected their friend, preserving his spirit as the one spark of purity in an otherwise mad world. The violation Lordaine suggested would destroy that touch innocence -- and the man along with it.  
  
"I see you understand," the Dark Lord approved, peering deep into Egon's agonized face. "You always were quick ... for a human."  
  
"Winston...."  
  
"The soldier?" Lordaine's image wavered slightly, but a few muttered incantations restored the illusion. "Seeing his friends destroyed in such a manner as I plan should be more than enough to reawaken the old terrors he lived through in your ... Vi-et Nam." Lordaine pronounced the words as though he was unfamiliar with them. "I'm sorry to have missed that particular event. It sounds as if it was a most ... interesting occurrence."  
  
"No, you can't do this." Egon sighed heavily as he tried to pull himself off the floor. He fell back with a pained gasp.  
  
Lordaine stooped down next to the fallen scientist. "A strong spell, isn't it? I've spent two years looking for it, but I need one more thing to seal it." His features wavered again and that was when Egon noticed the one detail lacking in the disguise.  
  
Lordaine reached out, plucking Egon's glasses from the bridge of his nose and perching them on his own. A quick slap of ectoplasmic energy danced on the round red frames, sealing the spell. The Dark Lord was now every inch as real as Egon, but far more dangerous.  
  
Lordaine rose. "You are too weak to walk or to call out for help, so I leave you in this room of shattered glass. Fitting, don't you think, for a man of shattered dreams?" He strode to the door. "Good night. Dr. Spengler. And ... have a nice day."  
  
***  
  
"If you two don't vacate my buddies' bods, I'm gonna have to do something drastic. What, I don't know, but it'll be drastic." Peter threatened and struggled as he was shoved into a small, dirty storage room. Winston and Ray stood outside for a moment, consulting with some low, guttural words. Then they removed their proton packs and entered the room themselves, locking the heavy door behind them. Peter backed up against the far wall, watching in awe as two distinctly different forms emerged from Ray and Winston. The forms hovered menacingly above the room, then zipped out the door. Winston and Ray staggered, and Peter jumped to their sides, catching each by one arm before they would have fallen. Carefully, he lowered his two friends to the floor.  
  
"Gosh, my head feels weird," Ray moaned, pulling his knees up and resting his face on them.  
  
"Yeah. I feel like I've been listening to Egon explain relativity again," Winston added. "Where are we, anyway?"  
  
"We've taken a little detour," Peter answered, matter of factly. "Seems you two had some company. Couple of guys named Ronnie and Marv decided they wanted to go joy riding in Ecto for old times sake."  
  
Winston stared at the psychologist in patent disbelief. "You ain't sayin' we were possessed?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Ronnie and.... Aren't those the two guys from that article Egon found?" Ray asked, raising his head and looking around. "And where is Egon? Is he all right?" Peter stared at the floor, deliberately not meeting his eyes, and Ray struggled to his feet in sudden panic. "Oh, my gosh, he's not...?" The sudden movement drained all the blood from his face and only Peter's arm slung instantly around his waist prevented him from slamming face first into the concrete floor.  
  
"Easy does it, pal," Peter admonished, bracing the younger man. "Take a deep breath. Good."  
  
Ray found his feet and pulled away with a wan grin. "Good thing I lost all that weight," he joked weakly, "or we would've both been in trouble."  
  
Peter returned the smile. "Maybe not both," he corrected firmly. "You okay, Winston?"  
  
Zeddemore groaned. "Man, I ain't felt like this since my old Army unit mixed it up with those Marines in Hong Kong." He fixed Peter with a straight look. "And you didn't answer Ray's question; where is Egon?"  
  
Peter indulged in one of his trademarked I-haven't-the-foggiest shrugs, but he couldn't keep the worry from his voice. "You two escorted us upstairs and left him there with some big creep," he explained, offering Winston a hand up. "Then you brought us here and played another game of 'musical bodies' with Ronnie and Marv."  
  
"We've got to get out of here. No telling what's happened to poor Egon by now," Winston said, peering out the door's barred window. "He ... holy cats!" The others crowded around to see what appeared to be Egon to the rescue. The physicist aimed his particle thrower, sending the two ghosts fleeing for their lives with a stream of accelerated protons.  
  
"Stand back," the blond ordered. The others had barely an Instant to obey before he blew the door off its hinges.  
  
"You got away from the big, bad ghoul," Peter cheered, clearing the melted remains of the door with a bound. "Good goin', Egon. Let's find our packs and clean house." Ray and Winston were only a step behind; Winston picked up the remaining proton pack and strapped it on as Spengler checked the corridor.  
  
"That's a good idea," Egon said over his shoulder. "We'd better split up. Peter, you come with me; Ray and Winston can back-track down the hallway."  
  
"Sounds good. Let's do it," Peter agreed, following Egon to the stairs. He favored the remaining two with a cheery 'Toodlele-Ooo' waggle of his fingers. "Remember, kids, no fair hogging all the fun. If you see anything, give us a holier, okay?" His words were light, the glitter in his green eyes was not.  
  
When they had disappeared, Winston turned to Ray and noted uneasily, "I don't like it, Ray. Egon's never been that gung-ho to take charge. He's always let Peter take the lead."  
  
"You don't think they did something to Egon?!" Ray gasped, wide-eyed and appalled. The thought of anything happening to the seemingly invincible Spengler was almost inconceivable to the youngest Ghostbuster.  
  
"I don't know, man." Winston rubbed his face reflectively. "I just feel like there's something not quite right here."  
  
Ray's open face hardened with determination. "I'm going to go warn Peter," he announced. He exchanged a look with Zeddemore, and his expression wavered. "Are you going to be all right?"  
  
"I'll be fine." Winston slapped his colleague on the shoulder, then whipped out his proton rifle in one smooth, unhurried gesture. "You're the one who's unarmed. Remember that."  
  
Stantz smiled again, a flash of white teeth in the murky gloom. "I will. Be careful." And he was gone, his boots making slapping noises on the stone steps.  
  
Zeddemore threw a switch arming the accelerator, and offered the night a wolfish smile. "Odds are even now, suckers," he growled softly. "Time for us to rock and roll."  
  
He found a back stairway that led up to the second floor landing. There was no sign of ghostly activity at all save for the faintly glowing walls -something which made him more uneasy than the reverse would have. Passing a door further down the hallway, he backed up when he heard a strange whining from within. Bracing himself, he burst through the door ready for action, only to find, to his astonishment, "Slimer! What are you doing here? Did you hide in the muffler again?" The little green ghost, covered with tell-tale soot, nodded nervously.  
  
"What is it, Slimer? What's wrong? You're shaking like a leaf." Winston grimaced as Slimer bugged him tightly, then casually wiped the residual slime away on his sleeve. "Eeegonnn, Eeegonnn, baaad spell, Winnnstonnn!" Slimer wailed.  
  
"But we just saw Egon; Peter's with him," Winston explained, as Slimer tugged impatiently at his arm.  
  
"No! Not Eeegon -- Lordaine!"  
  
Zeddemore regarded him puzzledly. "Who the heck is Lordaine?"  
  
"The brother of ... Samhaine."  
  
The last was not spoken in Slimer's reedy falsetto. Winston looked up to find Egon standing in a doorway, clinging to the frame. Without another word, the physicist collapsed to the floor.  
"Egon!" Winston rushed over and knelt beside his friend. "Egon, what's going on? Are you all right?  
  
Spengler struggled to sit up, only to fall back against Winston's arm. "Got to stop him, Winston. It's a trap," he managed breathlessly. "Lordaine ... he wants to destroy us ... set Samhaine free ... rule the world."  
  
"So that's not you -- it's Samhaine's brother ..." Zeddemore's eyes widened in horrified revelation, "... and he's got Peter! We've got to stop him!"  
  
"Can't do it -- not enough proton when he's in that form," Egon said, stopping the black man with a gesture. "He's too near human like that. We've got to break the spell ... catch him ... off guard ... my glasses...." With that, Egon passed out.  
  
"What does he mean, Slimer?" Winston asked, more confused than ever. He lowered the physicist to the floor then remained kneeling, deep in thought. Slimer floated about the room a couple of times, keening softly to himself.  
  
"That's it!" Winston's sudden shout start led the little ghost into popping through the nearest wall. He reemerged immediately with a shame-faced smile. "Lordaine has Egon's glasses; he must be using them as some sort of spell binder. We've gotta get them back, little guy. It's the only way to save Egon. We need him; he knows more about this Lordaine character than all of us put together, including Ray." He regarded the friendly specter earnestly. "I'm gong to need your help, Slimer. Think you can do it?"  
  
Slimer's big orange eyes shifted from Egon's still figure on the floor to Winston's solemn features. Summoning up all the courage he could, he put on his best grin and said in his high-pitched voice, "You got it, Winnnston. We'll busttt him, but goood!" He flew off leaving a very worried Winston to watch over Egon.  
  
*** 


	3. Chapter 3

"Egon, this has got me bugged. Why haven't we seen a single ghost?" Peter bent uneasily over the balcony's safety banister to survey the entry foyer below.  
  
"They seem to have retreated for the moment -- probably waiting for instructions from the head spirit," the other answered coolly.  
  
"Look, I'm going out to the car to get my proton pack; I'm very uncomfortable without it." Peter headed for the steps only to catch a glimmer of glowing blue energy flashing past his shoulder. It struck the banister, reducing half of it immediately to smoldering kindling. "Egon, have you gone nuts? You nearly turned me into a Pop-Tart!" Peter hollered angrily, turning around to see a strange glow emanating from Egon's eyes, not unlike the glow he'd seen earlier in Ray's. "Oops ... Egon, old buddy," he backed warily away from the apparition, finally feeling the wall against his back, "You feeling all right?"  
  
"Never better, Peter, why do you ask?" Egon replied smoothly, pointing the particle thrower at Peter's chest.  
  
"Well, for starters, you don't usually try to turn me into toast -- not on a good day anyway," he added. "By the way, when was the last time you had your eyes examined?"  
  
"Peter, look out!" Ray yelled from the stairway above.  
  
Distracted, Venkman had no opportunity to dodge Egon's second blast. It caught his arm, burning through his coverall and singing the flesh beneath. The psychologist yelped at the sudden pain; he dropped to his knees tightly clutching the wounded appendage. "Either Egon's gotten in some target practice, or something's a little off here," he gritted between clenched teeth.  
  
"Egon...." Stantz descended the steps slowly, approaching the figure he believed to be Egon with wide-spread arms. "It's me -- Ray. Egon, do you recognize me?"  
  
"Watch it, Ray," Peter cautioned, trembling with another wave of pain. "He's crazy!"  
  
"He won't hurt me." Stantz' voice was soft and trusting; the occultist projected every iota of affection he'd ever felt for his friend through his coaxing words. "You won't hurt me, will you, Egon?"  
  
The tall blond figure hesitated, his face creasing in confusion. "R-Ray?"  
  
"Yes, Egon, it's Ray." A delighted smile lit the younger man's face. "Put the pack away, Egon," he suggested. "You don't need it now."  
  
"Okay, Ray."  
  
The Egon-figure acquiesced so easily that Peter's inner alarm began to clang. Naturally unsuspicious, Stantz accepted the gesture at face value. "You're okay," he sighed, relieved. "I was afraid...."  
  
"I don't need a weapon," the blond interrupted, "when I can do this." With a speed too great to follow, the doppelganger brought up his arm, backhanding the unwary Stantz with brutal force. The smaller man caught the blow high on his cheek, the sheer power of it sending him backward a dozen feet to crash into the wall. Blood stained the yellowed plaster where he hit; he slid to the floor, collapsing in a heap.  
  
The pseudo-Egon regarded the barely conscious figure with satisfaction. "You may not be the least intelligent Ghostbuster," it said, grasping Stantz by the front of his jumpsuit and pulling him erect, "but you are certainly the least wise." The creature ran one hand down Ray's rapidly bruising cheekbone, then tangled its fingers in his hair, forcing his face up. "Innocence is an unheard of commodity in my world," it purred, bringing its mouth close to lick delicately at the blood flowing freely down Ray's face and throat. "I shall enjoy stripping you of yours."  
  
Ray stared uncomprehendingly into the familiar blue eyes. Peter, however, understood only all too well. "You slimeball," he grunted, gaining his feet only by an act of will. A burning rage ignited deep within him, hotter even than the fire in his arm. "Is that how you get your kicks ... whoever you are? Playing cheap pervert to a bunch of spooks?"  
  
The Egon-figure regarded the wounded psychologist with contempt. "You dare speak to me in such a manner?" the Dark Lord asked incredulously. "Only the very brave or the very stupid would say such things to me."  
  
"Wanna take a guess which one ol' Peter is?" came a mocking voice from the lower stair.  
  
"Winston...." Peter sagged back against the wall, relief weakening his knees. "Winston, Egon's...."  
  
"Not Egon," Zeddemore corrected patiently. "Lordaine." Without warning, he let loose a stream of hyper-charged particles. They smashed the wall a foot to the right of Lordaine's head, leaving a smoking crater in their wake.  
  
Lordaine regarded the action unconcerned. "You won't shoot me for fear of hitting your friend," he observed, holding Stantz a little higher and shaking him like a terrier with a rat. "I, however, have no such restraint." With a cruel smile, the doppelganger regained the trailing particle thrower and took aim at the hesitating Winston.  
  
Suddenly a flash of green streaked upward from the floor. Hovering in front of the start led double's face, Slimer gave him a raspberry that brought a smile to Peter's face. Before the Egon-figure could make a move, Slimer had removed the red-framed glasses and disappeared.  
  
The doppelganger released Stantz, spilling the groggy man back onto the floor only seconds before a mystical explosion rocked the room, flinging the appropriated proton pack half-way up the second staircase. The Egon figure began to flicker, dissolving into a putrid black mist. Then, with a final crackle of lightning, Lordaine, Spirit of the Harvest, stood among them.  
  
"It's Lordaine, Samhaine's brother!" Ray cried, cringing back against the wall.  
  
"Hey, I knew that," Peter replied with characteristic sarcasm. "You wanna tell me something I don't know? Like how to stop him?"  
  
"Hey, straw-for-brains, time to boogie!" Lordaine spun around to find Winston walking towards him, proton pack humming full steam. "You're gonna fry, Lordaine."  
  
Winston pressed the firing button, but Lordaine was faster yet. The Dark Lord made a mystic pass with one gloved hand, and the floor beneath Winston vanished. The black man started to fall, then twisted in mid-air, managing to grab hold of a half-broken banister rail. He dangled, suspended by one hand, staring down at the long drop below.  
  
"I hope this isn't the way you planned our rescue, Winston," Peter called out with an understandable lack of enthusiasm.  
  
"Uh ... no, not really." Winston hung on for dear life as Lordaine recited another ancient spell. The floor below began to smoke and shift, then burst into a giant circle of flame. Suddenly the room was alive with hidden ghosts, come to witness Winston's final fate. The place felt like a furnace, and sweat dripped down Winston's face, stinging his eyes.  
  
Lordaine laughed, a cackle of mad delight. "This is almost too easy. I was hoping for more of a fight from the great Ghostbusters." "Not so fast, Lordaine. You still have me to deal with." Startled, Lordaine stared up the stairway to where Egon crouched, buckling himself into the newly abandoned proton pack.  
  
"You're just in time, Dr. Spengler." The Dark Lord gestured widely, indicating the three other Ghostbusters. "You decide -- who shall die first? The soldier?" The swirling flames below Winston suddenly leaped several feet licking lightly at his booted feet. Zeddemore yelped, clinging to his banister for all he was worth.  
  
"Or shall it be the innocent?" Lordaine took a single step towards Ray, who looked as though he was trying to melt into the wall, a la Slimer. "The corruption of a soul would taste most sweet this night."  
  
"Leave him alone, slimeba'll." Peter growled deep in his throat. "You wanna pick on someone, try me."  
  
"No, Peter," Ray protested weakly, brushing vainly at the blood masking half his face. Then, stronger, "No!"  
  
"You know what your problem is, Lordaine?" Egon began analytically. "Like Samhaine, you suffer from an excessive ego. Very understandable, after all: Samhaine is the living embodiment of Halloween and you are the Harvester. Pretty tough images for anyone to live up to, human or not."  
  
Peter groaned in disbelief. "I can't handle this, man. We're about to be blown off the face of the planet, and Egon's giving out free psycho- analysis!" "What do you know of ego, flesh thing?" Lordaine spat. "What do you know of power?"  
  
"Power, now there's an interesting subject." Egon descended the stairs slowly, then began to circle the Dark Lord, step by step, talking all the while. "Power is defined as a physical force or energy, also as authority. Now I'm not saying you ancient gods didn't have physical force." He backed away, coming up short with the wall at his back. From there, he could look across at Peter and Ray, both staring at him with twin expressions of bemusement. He could also see something else -- something he hoped Lordaine would forget about for just another moment more. "But your authority is long gone, Lordaine. It's a new world -- one where you no longer have a place."  
  
Lordaine's cloak whipped about angrily, an extension of his own fury. "I need no authority, mortal," he snarled. "I am authority. I am power. Taste my power!" He gestured towards Egon and began a low murmuring.  
  
"Now, Winston!" Egon shouted, bringing up his particle thrower and flicking the switch.  
  
Twin beams of energy rent the misty air as Egon's stream was joined by Winston's. "Good talkin', bro," the black man said approvingly, adjusting his power levels to full. "You kept him distracted just long enough for me to stop playing like a chandelier."  
  
Lordaine twisted in the brilliant light, the radiation disrupting the very essence of his being. "Nooo...!" he howled, gathering his own power around him like a shield. "You'll not escape me a second time, Egon Spengler. You will all die!"  
  
"Slimer!" Egon's harsh summons brought the little ghost immediately to the fore. It floated up from the foyer, bearing a device half-concealed in its folds of green ooze. "Throw the trap, nowl"  
  
And that was when all of Ray's patient training of the spectral mascot paid off for, with one expert heave, Slimer tossed the temporary containment unit precisely under Lordaine's writhing form. He then set the activator onto the floor and slid it under Winston's foot.  
  
"Good going, Spud," Zeddemore cheered, stamping hard on the pedal. "And good-bye, Lordaine!"  
  
The trap opened, bathing the dark god in a new stream of purest radiation. Any other spirit in the world would have been immediately sucked into its glowing maw, to reside there safely until it could be deposited in the permanent containment. Any other spirit ... but Lordaine wasn't 'any other.' The Dark Lord paled in the radiation bath he was taking, shimmered for a moment, then, unaccountably, began to grow. The accelerator packs whined with the strain of maintaining the streams and even the metal trap began to smoke and sputter. That was when the miracle occurred.  
  
But can a miracle actually be called a miracle if it happens every day? The Ghostbusters later decided that it could, even though the miracle consisted of nothing more than the faithful sun peeking over the horizon.  
  
The rosy luminescence passed the barricade of the broken windows with hardly a pause. The observing spirits fled its touch, leaving the great balcony empty save for the four Ghostbusters, and Lordaine.  
  
"I don't believe it -- he's busting loose!" Zeddemore screamed, as Lordaine freed one gloved fist from its prison of light. "He's gonna make ill" "Keep it at full stream," Egon replied, recapturing the wandering hand with his own proton stream. "We can't give up now."  
  
"No need to give up, human," a mocking voice echoed in their minds, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "I shall take my victory, n--" And that was when the second miracle occurred, for the creeping rays of dawn had made their silent way through both broken glass and murky path and had now reached the high boot of the Harvest King himself.  
  
"The sunlight," Peter's joyous cry cut through the cloak of desperation which blanketed the four mortals. Even Lordaine looked up, his concentration distracted for the merest second before throwing himself back into the struggle with a frantic surge of strength.  
  
"No good," Egon panted, continuing to play a steady stream of fully accelerated subatomic particles on the cloaked figure. "Light was Samhaine's weakness, not Lordaine's."  
  
"No, not light - sunlight!" Ray Stantz roused himself from his panic and concussion-induced paralysis and began the long crawl to Peter's side. "It's the sun," he gasped. "It's sunrise!"  
  
Ruby light flooded the musty old balcony, lending it a warm glow as the sun fully emerged from its cocoon of the night. Quite suddenly and without warning, Lordaine screamed. "Nooo...!" The grim visage twisted into a rictus of purest hatred. "I can't lose now. I won't...." 


	4. Chapter 4

Lordaine faded and the trap snapped shut. As quickly as that, it was over.  
  
"He's gone," Winston said wonderingly, shutting off his pack. "He's ... gone?"  
  
"Gone," Egon confirmed, following suit. "But how? He was winning!"  
  
"It was the sunlight." Ray turned a pale, blood-streaked face upwards into now gold-touched light, and he would never know how much the smile he dredged up for his friends meant to them at that moment. "In primitive cultures, the sun is used to purify -- to burn away malice and evil." He shrugged and added, "I guess it worked."  
  
"Speaking of burning...." Peter sniffed the air warily. "I think we've got a problem folks." He jerked his head toward the banister, which had graduated from smoldering embers to a full-out conflagration. The fire was rapidly spreading across the balcony, eating up the dry planking in great, hungry gulps. The first floor was already an inferno; obviously, Lordaine's circle of flame had not disappeared with the Dark Lord's capture.  
  
"I think immediate evacuation is warranted in this circumstance," Egon said, pushing his smeared glasses back up onto his nose.  
  
"I think you're right." Peter reached down, offering Ray a hand up, then whitened as his injury re-announced its presence -- with a vengeance. He pulled back with a gasp, cradling his burned arm to his chest. "Oh, ouch...." he hissed, biting back a cry. "I forgot...."  
  
"Adrenaline." Egon nodded knowingly, placing his own arm around the bleary occultist and hauling him up. "Temporarily dulled the pain."  
  
"No kidding." Peter grimaced but allowed Winston to grab his good arm and usher him toward the stairs. He stopped so abruptly that the other man nearly knocked him over. "Oh, my god...."  
  
"What--?" Winston's voice choked off at the sight of the once-grand staircase. Most of the structure had vanished when Lordaine had collapsed the floor. What remained of the steps was little more than splinters jutting forth from the wall and resembling nothing so much as the ribs of some obscene beast. Smoke wafted upwards, borne on waves of superheated air.  
  
Peter backpedaled. "We can't get out that way," he screeched, his voice rising with panic. "The stairs are gone!"  
  
"We'll have to go back, then." Winston coughed harshly in the thinning air, then tightened his hold on Peter's arm as the balcony shook ominously. "This whole thing is gonna go! Follow me out!"  
  
Several yards away, Spengler had braced Ray against the wall. He held him by both arms, steadying him until the younger man found his balance. "Are you all right, Raymond?" he asked, studying the brown eyes anxiously.  
  
Stantz nodded, offering his friend another weak smile. "Better once we're out of here." The smile faded at the sound of a small explosion from the ground floor. "If we ever get out here."  
  
"We'll get out," Spengler vowed fervently. He stooped to pick up the trap containing Lordaine's neutralized form, and hooked it to his belt. "I promise." Ray stared at the blond's earnestness but had no opportunity to reply as Winston and Peter approached, parting the oily smoke before them. "Link yo'selves up," the black Ghostbuster ordered, unconsciously slipping into the street slang of his youth. "Egon, you're on Ray. Pete, you bring up the rear." He released his hold on Peter's arm to take Ray's hand. "Move!" Peter drew himself into a sloppy salute before Egon's hard, sweaty hand captured his own. Now totally blind from the smoke, the three original Ghostbusters could only follow Zeddemore's lead, trusting in his battle-honed instincts to see them through.  
  
"Floor!" came the black man's roughened command, and instantly the team crouched down, striving to reach the slightly richer air while maintaining their contact.  
  
The human chain wound its way past several unidentifiable obstacles, Winston unerringly guiding his colleagues into a side corridor off the main hall. There, the haze lifted slightly, and Zeddemore cautiously stood.  
  
"Fire's cut us off to the south," he panted, opening the nearest door and peering in. "We have to find an exit in this direction."  
  
"How do you know--?" Peter began.  
  
"I heard it," Winston cut him off abruptly. "If we don't get out this way...." He didn't finish the thought -- he didn't have to. They could all hear the dull roar which drew closer each minute.  
  
While the others climbed laboriously to their feet, Zeddemore crossed to the second door of the corridor, slamming it open with one well-placed kick. "Windows are barred," he panted, to the accompaniment of Slimer's "Heeeere, too, Winnnston," from down the hall. He tried a third. "Why ... ah." He dove through the aperture, emerging after a moment and gesturing his partners over. "Windows are clear," he reported. "We can get out this way."  
  
Four bedraggled figures entered the sparsely furnished room, Winston shutting the door against the snaking tendrils of smoke which had followed them up. Little tongues of flame danced here and there through the thickening haze, lending the entire picture a surreal aspect -- a scene from some medieval hell. They made their way across the rotting floorboards toward the only source of hope -- a single grimy window set in the far wall. Eagerly they rushed forward, only to be stopped by Egon's shouted, "Look out!" Winston, Ray, and Peter scrambled out of the way as Egon, with a grunt of effort, seized an old straightback chair from one corner and hurled it with all his might. The window exploded outward, sending a shower of sun-sparkling shards into the morning air.  
  
"And the Blond Bomber bats 'em in!" Peter cheered, kicking out the remaining glass and sticking his head through the resulting gap. "C'mon, group, let's.... Ulp!" This last was his only coherent response to the scene which awaited them outside for some moments. His shoulders sagged as he withdrew his head and turned to face his friends. "The house is built into a hill," he reported grimly. "There's a drop-off on this side; must be 60-70 feet."  
  
"But this is the only way down," Ray began, dismayed. He paused, thinking furiously. "Slimer!"  
  
A faintly glowing green mass popped through the wall instantly and began flitting around the room, wailing, "Fiiire! Fiiirel"  
  
"We know that, Slimer." Ray's patient voice brought the little ghost to a stop just above his head, where it hung, shrinking and expanding agitatedly a few feet away. "We need your help, little buddy," Stantz went on, still speaking softly.  
  
"Meeee?" Pleased, the little specter hovered closer, puffing itself with importance.  
  
Ray swayed and Egon grabbed his arms, easing him to a sitting position on the floor. "Raymond?"  
  
Stantz silenced him with a gesture, then waved the ghost lower. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "You, Slimer. You know what a rope is? Rope?" The protuberance which passed for Slimer's head bobbed. "We have a rope in Ecto. Can you fetch it for us?"  
  
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" The protuberance bobbed again and Slimer was gone, only a wet stain marking the spot where he flowed through the plaster.  
  
Peter stared at his auburn-haired friend with a ludicrous mixture of pessimism and hope. "Are you telling me that my life is depending on a spud too stupid to know he's not really a Kenmore Food Processor?" Ray nodded, and Peter sagged back against the wall and sank down. "Oh, good. As long as I know where I stand."  
  
Contrary to Venkman's expectations, food was the last thing on Slimer's primitive mind -- for once. Descending on the reconditioned Caddie like an avenging -- if sticky -~ angel, the amiable specter oozed through the car's metal wall and began its search. Assorted chests and boxes yielded nothing, as Slimer found by dematerializing his face and peeking into each one. Growing more frightened by the minute, he buzzed around the roomy interior, keening to himself all the while. "Rooope? Where? Roooope? Where?" The space beneath the back seat held nothing more interesting than an old gumdrop, which Slimer examined thoroughly and from every angle before tossing it into his cavernous mouth and crunching away.  
  
"Rope, where?" he said, beginning the litany all over. "Rope.... There!" With a squeak, Slimer pulled back a previously unnoticed panel to reveal a compartment set into the rear sidewall. There, coiled neatly into a pile, were several lengths of assorted rope and cable. "Yeeeah! Rope!" Selecting one coil from its bed, Slimer unhooked it and pulled it loose, then, with a merry little gurgle, he swooped through the back window and was gone, floating lightly on the gentle breeze.  
  
"... probably stopped somewhere for a sandwich," Venkman was saying when Slimer reappeared at the window, his prize held triumphantly aloft. Peter coughed. "Of course I could be wrong. Floor's hot, guys," he added by way of an afterthought.  
  
"So's the door." Winston made his way back to his friends' side, literally leaping the last several yards when one board cracked beneath his foot. "Yikes! Let me have that rope, Slimer." He snatched the coil from Slimer's partially solid fingers and stared at it bleakly. "This is that light cotton stuff," he said. "You should have brought the steel-cored nylon, ...no, it's okay, Slimer." He smiled quickly at the distressed little ghost. "You did fine." With a sigh, he began tying knots into the cord at 3-foot intervals. Thus distracted, he didn't notice Egon until the physicist lightly touched his shoulder.  
  
"We've got a problem, Winston," he said quietly.  
  
"Only one?"  
  
The taller man ignored the interruption. "I don't think either Peter or Ray are going to make it down the rope. Peter's arm is burned worse than he's letting on, and I'm certain Ray is badly concussed."  
  
Winston glanced over to where the other two were huddled together beside the window. Peter had managed to tie a rough bandage around his burned arm, but his eyes were closed, his lips thinned with pain. Leaning heavily against Peter's good shoulder, Ray sat, knees drawn up and his head resting on his crossed arms. What little could be seen of his face was ashen and blood streaked.  
  
Winston continued tying his knots. "Then we'll have to lower them both. This cotton rope won't hold more than one of us at a time, either." He met Egon's eye, carefully expressionless. "This floor's going to go any minute." As if to punctuate this statement, an ominous creaking began midway across the room.  
  
Winston tied his final knot, a slipknot, and secured the other end of the rope to a sturdy looking crossbeam. Then he tapped Peter on the top of the head. "Yo, cuz," he called cheerfully. "Time to go."  
  
Peter opened his eyes cautiously, as though afraid to see what new development may have presented itself in the past few minutes. Winston dangled the noose in front of his face. "Considering the circumstances," Peter objected mildly, "wouldn't you call that overkill?"  
  
Winston chuckled. "We're going to lower you and Ray out that window, Homeboy. "Just consider the Zeddemore Elevator Company to be at your disposal." That won him a smile.  
  
"This should be good," Peter groused, though without his usual acid. "Ray?" He shook the other man gently, waiting until the unfocussed brown eyes had turned into his general direction before speaking again. "Time to blow this taco stand, buddy. You know, go bye-bye?"  
  
Stantz nodded wearily and moved away from Peter's supporting shoulder. He was stopped when Egon placed a filthy hand on the back of his neck. "You first. Peter," the physicist said.  
  
"But Ray...."  
  
"You." Spengler offered the frowning psychologist a hand up. After a moment, it was accepted. "If Ray passes out before he gets clear of the ropes...."  
  
"All right, all right," Venkman growled, his quick mind having run several scenarios even as he spoke. He allowed Winston to fit the rope under his armpits, then perched on the window and dangled his legs outside. He waited until both Winston and Egon had taken the rope a turn about themselves and nodded him the okay before declaring, "See you downside," and, with a flash of white teeth, he was gone.  
  
Sixty-plus feet is a long way to fall, but Peter negotiated the drop without incident. Little over a minute later, Peter was on the ground shrugging himself free. He sent it on its way with a swift tug and a hearty cheer.  
  
Egon reeled in the light cable, then knelt beside the bleary engineer, who was watching him silently. "It's almost over, Ray," Spengler encouraged, slipping the noose over his friend's head and under his shoulders. "I told you we'd make it."  
  
Stantz smiled weakly. "You ... promised."  
  
"Never break my promises, do I?" Spengler joked, as he and Winston helped the younger man to his feet. Egon kept one arm around Ray's shoulders until Winston had stabilized himself, feet apart and powerful muscles tensed for their anticipated task. "Just relax, Raymond. Winston and I will do the work." Then, bracing himself, he eased Stantz out the window, rapidly playing out the rope. Ray's feet had barely reached terra firma before Egon was beginning his own slide down the fragile strand. He was groundside even before Peter could manage to one-handedly free Ray from the knotted tine.  
  
"Come on, Winston!" Egon bellowed, even his powerful voice almost lost in the crackling roar of the flames. He elbowed Peter gently aside to finish the task of freeing Stantz.  
  
Up above, Winston was having problems of his own. No sooner had Egon begun his descent, then the floor had groaned and given way, leaving Winston suddenly without support. Using the momentum of one powerful leap, he launched himself for the window, diving through only seconds before the now unobstructed conflagration would have barbecued him well-done.  
  
"This is gettin' to be a habit," he grunted, twisting nimbly to snare the rope in one callused hand. He yelped as it bit into his palm, but maintained his grip and commenced his own rapid descent. Dispensing with the traditional hand-over-hand method, Winston bit his lip and slid, ignoring the pain of rope and knots burning into his flesh. It would take but seconds for the thin cotton line to be incinerated by the intense heat. He was within fifteen feet of the ground when the rope broke. "YEEE- OOOOW!" he screeched, landing in a less-than-graceful heap. Egon and Peter rushed to the sprawled figure and, each taking one leg, dragged him away from the crumbling walls only seconds before they collapsed.  
  
"That was a nasty fall," Ray said from his position propped up against one of Ecto's tires.  
  
Peter chuckled his relief when Winston opened his eyes and gazed blankly up at his friends. "Oh, I don't know about that," he quipped. "You came down kind of ... interestingly. Like a big duck."  
  
Egon checked the black man over for breakage, then sat back on his heels. "Are you okay, Winston?"  
  
Zeddemore blinked twice and raised his head very slowly. "Ah think so," he pronounced cautiously, as Egon helped him to sit. "Bruised but unbroken. That cheap cotton thread lasted just long enough...." He broke off, gazing at the shell-shocked faces around him with a happy, sloppy grin. "We made it!" he crowed, relief making him giddy. "WE -- MADE -- IT!"  
  
"It would seem so," Egon replied mildly, regaining some of his own aplomb.  
  
"Seem, heck!" The black Ghostbuster swatted one of Egon's blue-clad legs. "We won!" His enthusiasm temporarily banished the aches and pains caused by his fall. "Let's go hunt up Ronnie and Marv and...."  
  
"I'm so very glad you're in such a good mood." Peter's caustic remark cut through the relief-induced hysteria like a knife. "But in case you haven't noticed, neither Ray nor I are really in the mood to frolic right about now. Dig?"  
  
Winston's mood sobered instantly. "Gee, Pete, I'm sorry," he offered, abashed. "Let me take a look at that arm. If it gets infected...."  
  
"Quite frankly, Winston, old man," Venkman interrupted, "I'd feel a whole lot better conducting this conversation -- and examination -- some place else." He gestured wearily to the blazing pile of rubble which had once been a stately edifice. "I don't like it here."  
  
"There's nothing left, Peter." Egon pulled a spare PKE meter from the wagon and pointed it in all directions, studying its gloaming face. "No sign of any spectral activity," he said at last. "However, I agree with your sentiments. I, too, would feel more comfortable in any location besides our present one." He waited until they had climbed painfully into the old Cadillac and Winston had started the engine before adding, "By the way, does anyone know what our present location actually is?"  
  
Winston and Ray exchanged a puzzled look. "Not me," the occultist declared, just ahead of Winston's "Me, either."  
  
"What do you mean you don't know where we are?" Peter sputtered. "You were the ones who drove us here!"  
  
"I didn't drive us here -- Ronnie did," Winston retorted, offended. "Or Marv. ..whoever. What about you two? Didn't you see anything from the back seat?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" Peter gave vent to an inelegant snort. "The way you two were babbling on and on about 'the good old days' put Egon and me right to sleep." Then everyone got into it, all talking at once. "How about we go...?" "Naw, the sun is...." "We could...." "Not enough gas...."  
  
"Quiet" Egon's thunderous bass silenced the clamor instantly. The others turned to gape at him for all the world like three landed fish. "Slimer, you see what you can find out aloft. Winston, I distinctly recall crossing the George Washington Bridge. That suggests an easterly direction to start." Having no fault to find with this logic, Winston put the big Caddie into gear and was relieved to find civilization waiting but one hillcrest away.  
  
***+ 


	5. Chapter 5

The next couple of days were quiet ones for the Ghostbusters. Egon and Winston handled a few minor calls, but Peter categorically insisted that all major assignments be deferred to a time when all four were back on active duty status. This last strained Janine's limited powers of diplomacy to their utmost when several prospective customers demanded immediate service. Only Peter's timely intervention saved one caller a lambasting guaranteed to reduce him to a whimpering puddle of ectoplasm had it been delivered. "... and I'm telling you...."  
  
Janine's drop dead tone had brought Peter out of his office at a run. Having worked with the sharp-tongued secretary nearly four years, he knew the signals of imminent explosion. He snatched the receiver from her fist before she could launch into what sounded like a promising monologue. Unfortunately, he'd used his burned arm for the task. Cursing, he switched hands, ignoring his secretary's offended "Hey!" with nary a glance. "Ghostbusters Central, Doctor Peter Venkman here. May I help you?"  
  
"Cowabunga, dude," a voice replied in the accents of pure Muscle Beach. "I was just rappin' with this really hitching chick, man. You know, cool to the max, about a far out event what happened to my buddies and me."  
  
"Yes, sir," Venkman replied, visions of Beverly Hills cash and paid California vacations dancing a pretty pas de deux through his mind. "Why don't you tell me about it, Mr....?"  
  
"Wilder, man. My friends call me Pipeline."  
  
"Of course they do," Peter acknowledged smoothly. "Why not tell me what happened ... urn ... 'Pipeline'?" He winked at Janine, who glared.  
  
"Simone, man. It was like this: my mates and I were tooling down the highway, see, when we come on this really excellent beach. Well, these noises were coming from the surf, then this rude dude pops through the dune...."  
  
"I see, I see." Peter cut him short, already sorry he'd stuck his nose into Janine's business. "And you want us to clear away any PKE anomalies so that you and your friends can access this stretch of beach for your own uses, right?"  
  
"You got it, dude," Pipeline confirmed, obviously having understood Peter's question.  
  
"I doubt that'll be much of a problem." The psychologist practically rubbed his hands together as they got down to his favorite subject. "Our standard fee is $1,500 for a single entrapment, multiple entities are extra, of course. And then there's airfare...."  
  
"Airfare?" the caller interrupted puzzledly. "To New Jersey?"  
  
"New Jersey!" Venkman's vacation plans whimpered and died. "You're not from California?"  
  
"I could have told you that. Dr. Venkman," Janine sniffed. "He doesn't have any money, either."  
  
"Oh." Pipeline made to continue, but Peter had already turned the phone over to the secretary, pretending not to notice her sneer. "You want to get Pipeline's number, Ms Melnitz? We'll get back to him... sometime." He snatched ECTO's keys from a hook and headed for the car. "I'm going to the hospital; Ray's getting discharged today."  
  
"Already?" Janine dropped the receiver into its cradle, cutting Pipeline off at the dock. "I thought he was supposed to stay there until Friday."  
  
"He was." Peter chuckled at the memory of his friend's overwhelming desire to come home. Ray had run the gamut from demanding to threatening to pleading, his persistence paying off when the physician had finally agreed to release him several days early, "... in order," the doctor had growled, "to prevent my letting a little blood myself!"  
  
And so Ray Stantz was returned home and, by the end of the week, Ghostbusters Central had returned to its more or less natural state of ordered chaos. Today was no exception: Winston and Egon had gotten up early to answer a routine summons from a woman in Queens who suspected that her cat was possessed by the spirit of Elizabeth the First. Sensing little peril in return for a hefty consultation fee in the visit, Janine had accepted the call and the two able Ghostbusters prepared to go out.  
  
"I don't really need backup on this one," Winston had protested, while the two prepared to leave. "Worst I'm likely to face today is some poor pussycat with a furball."  
  
Peter had immediately overruled the objection with Ray's vocal support. "We work as a team," the occultist had asserted firmly, "or we don't work at all." Thus, the matter settled, Winston pulled Ecto-1 out of the garage and into the morning traffic, leaving the firehouse quiet and more than a bit empty.  
  
Self-adhesed to the ceiling, Slimer dozed, occasionally snuffling to himself. Peter, on the other hand, seized the opportunity to work out. Choosing a light weight, he began one of the seemingly endless repetitions prescribed for his arm. The burn had been a painful one, but fortunately not deep enough to cause any serious tissue destruction. It did, however, still hurt, so he took his time, curling and uncurling muscles, tendons and skin with a fluid grace. He didn't mind the routine; slim but well-muscled, Peter was proud of his body and enjoyed any opportunity to make it work for him.  
  
Stretched full-length on the sofa, Ray watched the half-stripped figure enviously. It was Peter who had introduced him to the joys and benefits of physical exertion, and Ray had embraced the philosophy avidly. Oftentimes, he would work out with Peter, other times he would exercise alone, reveling in the stretch and play of solid flesh. And Venkman hadn't told him the half about the benefits for, forty pounds lighter and feeling better than he ever had, he was still flabbergasted by the unmistakably lecherous looks and proposals women routinely threw his way when he jogged. Hooked on the entire package, Ray begrudged even one day when he had to forego the PT routine he followed.  
  
Today, though, forbidden to do anything more strenuous than punch the button on the TV remote, Ray could only watch his friend as Peter put himself through a series of contortions which would have made any guru cringe. Depressed, headachy and bored, Ray turned on the set, resigned to yet another afternoon of mindless viewing.  
  
"...and behind door number two...."  
  
[Click]  
  
"Da-da-da dat's all, folks!"  
  
[Click]  
  
"Oh, Dave...."  
  
"Oh, Susan...."  
  
"Oh, Will...."  
  
[Click]  
  
Peter's ears pricked up like a cat's at that last. "You want to back that channel up, Ray?" he requested, tossing the weight into a corner. "I'm not sure I heard what I thought I heard."  
  
Stantz tossed him the selector, and Peter switched back to one of TV's newest "steamy" soaps. Right now, the screen showed a heap of half- clothed bodies writhing in the throes of what had to be either passion or acute indigestion. Seating himself on the floor in front of the sofa, Peter began doing sit-ups, his eyes never leaving the screen.  
  
"You know," he panted when one particularly athletic young woman improbably named 'Chastity' announced to the group at large that she had an inoperable tumor, was seven months pregnant, and the father's name was 'Gloria,' "this reminds me of a frat party I went to in my sophomore year. There was this girl who...." He launched into an outrageous anecdote recounting the adventures of two women, a football player, and several helium balloons, rattling on for several minutes. It wasn't until the first commercial that he became aware of a conspicuous silence behind him. He ceased his sit-ups and dragged his attention away from the television to glance at his friend. "Ray?" No reply. Stantz was oblivious to either Chastity's capers or Peter's story. He sat, chin propped on fist, and the expression in his eyes was very far away indeed.  
  
"Wakey, wakey, Raymond," Venkman called, slapping the other man on the leg. "Sleeping with your eyes open is a sign of acute dementia."  
  
Stantz blinked twice, returning to the present with a start. "Huh?"  
  
Peter sighed. "Did anyone ever tell you what a sparkling conversationalist you were?" he asked, rolling his eyes comically.  
  
Ray offered him a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"  
  
"Obviously nothing you were interested in hearing," the psychologist replied huffily, but there was no heat in his words. Venkman stood and stretched, sucking huge gulps of air into his lungs, then expelling them slowly. "Well?"  
  
"Well ... what?" the other replied guilelessly enough, but he shifted uncomfortably when Venkman shot him a piercing look.  
  
"So why...?" Their private phone jangled and Peter stooped to pick it up. "Yaa-llo. Oh, hi, Buffy. No, just knocking around. You were thinking of doing ... what?" He listened intently, a slow flush working its way up his neck. "Didn't I just see that on a soap opera?" he asked, sticking his tongue out at Ray and panting heavily. His antics went unremarked by the other man; Ray had already returned to his intense scrutiny of the far wall, again walking paths far removed from the pleasant sitting room. Peter frowned.  
  
"Yes, uh ... listen, baby, that all sounds great, but why don't you let me get back to you on it later. No ... yes ... later." He hung up, not without a pang of regret, then gave his oblivious friend a sharp rap on the leg. "You used to like my college stories," he said dryly. "Have I gotten really boring? Or was she really gorgeous -- and naked?"  
  
Stantz blushed. "I wasn't thinking about a girl, Peter!"  
  
Venkman settled himself at the opposite end of the sofa and draped one arm familiarly over his friend's stockinged feet. "Then what were you thinking about?" he asked gently.  
  
Across the room Oprah Winfrey's warm contralto replaced the heavy breathing of the previous series. An off-stage announcer introduced today's guests, proponents of legalized clothing-optional establishments. Having seen the same topic discussed on Geraldo just the day before, Venkman clicked the set off.  
  
The sudden silence was tense, a far cry from the comfortable warmth the four usually shared. Peter shook his friend's leg. "You were about to tell me what you were thinking?" he pursued.  
  
A triangular paperweight secured a stack of unpaid bills to the coffee table. Carved from a single crystal, it caught the morning sun, throwing off a kaleidoscope of color onto the walls. Ray picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands, studying the fiery core as though it were the most important thing on the planet. Peter waited quietly, and finally Ray looked up, meeting the psychologist's encouraging green eyes with a hooded, almost defiant gaze. "I was thinking about the corruption of the soul," he said at last.  
  
"Oh." Peter cocked his head, regarding the younger man with an enigmatic expression. "And what would you know about that?" he asked lightly. "Not that I haven't tried to steer you in the right direction...."  
  
"Knock it off. Peter." A rare testy note crept into the occultist's voice. "I'm not stupid, you know." He dropped his eyes again, preferring to stare into the bottomless heart of the stone. "I ...I know what Lordaine was going to do to me," he admitted in a hushed voice. "And to you."  
  
Silence. Then, "No, Ray, you're not stupid." This last was so unexpected that Stantz raised his head at once. "You're not stupid," Peter went on, "and it'd be pretty hard not to know what Lordaine had planned for you -- for us all." He shuddered. "But that's not what's bothering you, is it?"  
  
Ray couldn't repress an admiring smile. "How did you know that?"  
  
Peter rubbed at a nonexistent beard and settled invisible pince nez more firmly onto his nose Egon-style. "Because I," he announced in an atrocious German accent, "am ze dok-tor here." Ray laughed, which was exactly what the psychologist had intended. "That's better," he encouraged. "Now do you want to tell your dear old Uncle Peter what the problem is?"  
  
Ray sighed and ran a hand through his auburn hair. "It wasn't Lordaine so much," he explained quietly. "It was all those other ghosts with him."  
  
"Them?" Peter frowned. "They were minor class two's for the most part. What do they have to do with...?"  
  
"They used to be people. Peter," Ray interrupted. "They watched what happened to us ... and they were enjoying it." He sagged, suddenly weary, but his eyes pleaded for understanding. "They watched you getting hurt, Winston almost fell to his death, and me...." He stopped. "Well, they were laughing, Peter -- cheering Lordaine on. I heard them," he added, as though he didn't expect to be believed.  
  
"Okay." Venkman held up a conciliatory hand. "But that's par for the course, pal. You're going to find people -- alive or dead -- like that wherever you go."  
  
"But so many...."  
  
"Maybe," Pete interrupted curtly in a tone which brooked no argument, "that's what we're here for -- because four billion good guys in this world need our ..." He spread his hands wide, encompassing the entire firehall and, by association, Egon and Winston as well. "... protection."  
  
Ray looked thoughtful. "That's what I've always believed, but...."  
  
"Believe it." Peter clapped his friend on the leg again just as a clatter from the stairs announced the return of the prodigal members of the team. "Yo, bro," he called as Winston's curly head cleared the stairway. "How goes it with the puss from hell? Did you get 'littered'?" He chortled at his own joke.  
  
"Very funny." Winston somehow managed to look amused, disgusted and smug all at once. "The call didn't go exactly the way we expected. I mean, we get there and...." He broke off to stick his head back down the stairway. "Oh, Eeee-gonnn. Can you come up here a minute?"  
  
A heavy tread heralded the arrival of the tall blond. He ascended the steps slowly, cradling a cardboard box from which emitted a strange, high- pitched squalling. Slimer left his perch, looking curious.  
  
"What do you have there?" Peter asked, gaining his feet. His smooth face puckered in alarm. "My god, that's not...?"  
  
"Yep." Winston plucked the crate from Egon's arms and deposited the whole thing in an astonished Ray's lap. "Kittens."  
  
"Kittens?" Peter echoed, horrified.  
  
"Kittens!" Ray picked up one of the meowing balls of fluff and held it gently to his cheek. The mother cat watched him warily then, apparently deciding he was no threat to her baby, sat down and began to lick her ginger fur. "I used to have a cat," he said, crooning to the little animal softly. His expression again turned inward, but this time it was a pleasant experience rather than horror relived. Unseen by the occultist -- but not unnoticed by Egon -- Peter nodded, satisfied.  
  
"This is your possessed cat?" Venkman asked, scratching the ginger cat under the chin. She hissed and took an annoyed swipe at him, claws extended. He jerked his hand back with a yelp. "Yikes! Are you sure she isn't possessed?"  
  
"PKE readings show normal." A straying black-and-tan made a break for freedom; Egon scooped it back into the box. "Queen Elizabeth has not decided to invade the feline world. Unfortunately, Mrs. Harsworthy was very annoyed that her 'possessed' cat turned out to be nothing more trendy than pregnant."  
  
"Yeah, but what are we going to do with them?" Winston interjected. "This ain't no city pound, you know."  
  
"Can't we keep them?" Ray stared at each of his friends in turn, the longing apparent in his pleading expression. "Please? I'll take care of them -- I promise! Can we?"  
  
Peter couldn't help it. This was such a typical Stantz-thing to say that he couldn't hold in his delight. The laugh started low in his belly, then worked its way past his teeth, emerging in a great, merry snort. Without a word, Peter Venkman threw back his head and roared.  
  
The other three could only stare until the psychologist's mirth had run its course. Soon, Peter lay sprawled on the couch panting for breath. "What would ... what would we name them?" he gasped, when he could breathe again. "Manny, Moe and Jack?" He forced himself to his feet and lifted the black kitten from the box, ruffling Ray's hair in passing. He peered solemnly into gold eyes held level to his own. "What do you think about that, huh, cat? How about Seymour?"  
  
"How about Moe, Larry and Curly?" Winston suggested.  
  
"How about Athanasius...." Egon began.  
  
"NO! " chorused from three throats, silencing the physicist at once.  
  
"Oh." Egon subsided into offended silence and retreated to an easy chair in the corner, looking sulky.  
  
Ray lifted the last miniature feline from its box and nestled it close. The tiny creature uttered a loud mewl, then curled up into a ball, purring contently. "It doesn't matter what we call them," Ray asserted, moving the box so that the ginger cat could join her offspring on his lap, "as long as they're here and safe. That's all that matters."  
  
Peter regarded his youngest colleague with a warm twinkle, then met Egon's eyes and smiled. "It may not be the only thing that matters," he said, very, very softly, "but at least it's a start."  
  
***  
  
finish 


End file.
